


Scars

by Bofur1



Series: Company Confidential [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Battle of Azanulbizar, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Lots of Thorin Tears, Major Character(s) death, Memories, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sorry Not Sorry, Thorin's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are out of my sight, but you will never be out of my heart.<br/>I will never see your face, but I'll always remember your smile.<br/>I will never hear your voice again but you will forever whisper in my ear.<br/>I never got to say goodbye to you, or tell you how much you really meant to me.<br/>One day we will meet at Heaven's Gates and I will be with you again...<br/>And this time it will be forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Dark of Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kili99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kili99/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *akhûnîth = young man  
> *mê haze-chun = my sister-son  
> *Kibilâl = (the) charmer [Kíli's Dwarven name]

I jerked awake suddenly, an angst-ridden cry catching in my throat. I sat up quickly and found that I was tangled up in a blanket on a bed, but it was not mine. I stared with wild blue eyes around the chamber. A pillow was across the room. Perspiration soaked the neck of my nightshirt, and I was gasping for breath.

I had been trapped in an obscure slumber, in the grasp of a dark dream. As reality sunk in, I realized that I was in my sister Dís’s dwelling in the Blue Mountains.

I remembered the plague of my nightmare and shuddered. I’d been dreaming of the one who had stolen my true home, the faraway kingdom of Erabor. Somehow the fire-drake, Smaug, had worked his way into my unconscious mind. My stomach clenched in intense pain and anger, and, kicking the cover away, I leapt from my bed.

Trudging wearily into Dís’s living room I collapsed into a chair before the hearth. I halfheartedly poked at the weakly flickering embers in the fireplace, but soon abandoned the effort. No flame existed that was hotter than the memory of the Wyrm.

As I gazed into the ashes I felt something stir inside me. An anxious disquiet, pulling at my heart. Usually the yearning lay dormant, hidden beneath layers of self-control and levelheaded propriety. But it was in these moments, when all was quiet and I was alone with my thoughts, that Desire wrapped its hand around my heart and wrung it dry.

It was my duty to regain Erabor. I and my people deserved better than this. The Blue Mountains were our dwelling, but not our _home_. I knew I was not alone. The Desire was spreading to others, like a quiescent pandemic sneaking into the hearts of the Dwarven men. Just the other day I locked eyes with Balin and saw something there. His brown eyes stared at me with an intensity that overpowered the smoothly-polished acceptance that usually lay there. Even he was feeling the pull.

I startled when I felt a tiny hand on my knee. When I looked down I saw russet brown eyes staring back at me.

“Uncle?” Kíli whispered curiously.

My answering smile didn’t reach my eyes and we both knew it. “You’re supposed to be asleep, _akhûnîth_.”

“So a’e you,” Kíli retorted simply. I couldn’t help but be amazed at the brilliantly logical answer from this ten-year-old Dwarfling. My nephew held out his arms, and I pulled him onto my lap. We sat in silence for a long time, and then Kíli asked hesitantly, “What’s w’ong, Uncle Tho’in?”

I paused. There was no way to explain the depth of my emotions to him. He simply couldn’t understand. I told him so, and heard another young voice speak.

“Could _I_ understand? I’m five years older, after all.” As he said this Fíli shuffled from his bedroom toward his brother and I.

“That doesn’t matte’,” Kíli mumbled sulkily around his thumb, which was firmly embedded in his mouth. “I’m sma’ter.”

Fíli bristled at this statement. “Are not!”

“A’e too.”

“Lads,” I sighed, “just don’t.”

Kíli wrapped his free hand around a lock of my hair and said abruptly, “Will you tell us a sto’y, Uncle Tho’in?”

“I don’t know if I have any you haven’t heard. You’ve heard the tale of Azog, the Dragon, your births, _my_ birth...”

“What about Frerin?” Fíli suggested. I froze, my previous words falling mutely away. I’d not heard that name spoken without sorrow in years. How did Fíli know...?

“Oh, yeh!” Kíli agreed. “We heard Uncle Dwalin say that. When we asked him what it meant he said we should talk to you. So what’s a F’e’in?”

“‘Who’ is what Kíli means,” Fíli cut in. “It’s obviously a name.”

“It _could_ be a ‘what’,” Kíli disagreed.

In my mind I cursed Dwalin repeatedly for setting me up as he had. I knew he thought it would be healthier for me to speak of my brother, to let the memories spill out.

“Living in the past is like scratching a wound,” he insisted during one of our arguments. “If you don’t talk about it and let it out, it will never go away. Let it heal, Thorin! Accept the scars and focus on the ones who yet live.”

“It’s easy for you to say!” I shouted. “You still have your brother!” There had been a stunned silence between us, and Dwalin hadn’t brought it up again. But now I saw that he was still working in subtler ways to get my attention. Hence the employment of my unknowing nephews.

“Frerin was a ‘who’, Kibilâl,” I said gravely to Kíli. Though my tone was quiet, I had used his true Dwarven name and it ended the boys’ tiff immediately. “He was my younger brother, another uncle of yours.”

“Anothe’ uncle?” Kíli echoed in surprise. To him it seemed impossible to have someone else to call uncle when he already had myself, Balin, and Dwalin.

“Yes, _mê haze-chun_. I suppose it _is_ time you know about Frerin.”


	2. Suicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frerin knows it's a bad idea to go after Moria, especially because the King and his two heirs will be in the line of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *GabilAdad = Grandfather  
> *Adad = Father  
> *nadadel = brother of (all) brothers  
> *tak yemu = until later

“You shouldn’t go!” Frerin declared.

“It’s GabilAdad’s command,” I answered somberly, my eyes following my brother as he paced. He looked like an agitated jaguar, with his dark tunic and trousers and his long onyx-black hair cascading down his back and shoulders.

“GabilAdad  has lost his mind!” Frerin protested angrily. I held up a hand for a chance to look about. It was strange, but this silence-sign that Adad had taught me worked on everyone, even my own talkative brother. Once I was sure we were still alone I spoke again.

“You shouldn’t say that so loudly. The rumors are spreading, and if someone hears—”

“What does it matter, Thorin? If the rumors have spread it’s already too late,” my brother snapped. “And besides, the rumors are true. The King under the Mountain is _insane_. He’s willing to rally up what meager forces we have left from the Wyrm’s attack—which happens to include his _only heirs_ —and order them to commit suicide at Moria! What he’s doing is waltzing up to the king of the Orcs and handing over all the royal bloodline!” Frerin stopped pacing and planted his hands on his hips before me. “You know what? I’d rather Adad usurp the throne than go along with GabilAdad’s madness!”

“Frerin!” I gasped. “That would be high treason—!”

“But Adad won’t do that, because he’s so eager to get on his father’s good side again that he won’t listen to reason either!” Frerin ranted.

“Frerin!” I yelled, catching his attention at last. When his smoky green eyes turned to me I said as calmly as I could manage, “ _Suicide_ is Adad trying to usurp the throne. No matter how everyone loves him, it is their duty to protect their king.” I watched him pale as I continued, “Can you even imagine the horror of watching Uncle Fundin kill our father? You bet they would make us watch, to keep us from doing anything of the like in the future. So do you really want that to happen?”

Frerin pursed his lips. “But...how can they send you to Moria?” he asked, his voice suddenly pitiful.

I was surprised. “Wait. What?”

“Thorin, you dense oaf, I’m worried about _you_!” Frerin burst out. “If Adad and GabilAdad are willing to die, I can’t stop them. But we need you! What will Dís do if you...” He took a shuddering breath. “...if you don’t come home?”

Without even a moment’s hesitation I stood and embraced him. He clung to me, tighter than he ever had. “I’ll come home, _nadadel_ ,” I heard myself promise. It was an overwhelmingly burdening vow, one that I might not be able to keep. But I would try. By the beards of Durin and Mahal, I would try.

I didn’t know how long we held each other, but when we heard a noise at the door we pulled apart. Our little sister Dís was there.

Even though she was very young—she had yet to turn thirty-five—Dís was already attracting attention from the males among our subjects. Our Ama and Adad believed this was a good thing, but Frerin and I were feeling the possessive brotherly genes kicking in. I felt it now as I looked at her. Her noir black hair fell on her shoulder in long bead-ridden strands, a striking contrast against her white and gold dress. Her crystal blue eyes were like puddles of water, brilliantly clear, but now they were filled with emotion.

“Thorin, Adad says to get your armor on,” she said sadly. “It’s time to say goodbye.”

I soon stood by a pony, saying farewell to my family. I hugged Ama and Dís long and hard, and then Frerin. As he hugged me back he spoke in a choked voice.

“ _Tan gamut warg ai-mênu_ ,” he whispered. I stepped back, astonished. After a moment, my eyes narrowed.

“ _Tak yemu_ ,” I said emphatically, and climbed on my pony. As our army began to ride I felt a chill. Frerin’s words kept echoing in my mind.

May a good death be upon you.


	3. Windup Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the toys’ gears were not sprung soon enough, they would break from the strain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning *violence and graphic horror*

As we entered the valley before Moria’s gates, I could feel my breath growing short. A cold sweat was building on the nape of my neck, and beneath my armor I was covered in gooseflesh. I’d only been in a few battles before; they were atrociously bloody, and nightmares still plagued my sleep each night.

At my grandfather’s command the Dwarven war horns sounded, deep and proud as the Khazad-dûm caverns for which we were going to fight. The sound swept throughout the valley, like ripples disturbing the waters of the sacred Mirrormere.

The horns died away. I didn’t know how long we sat there, the only sounds being our soldiers’ hitched breathing and the snorting of our mounts. Then we heard it.

It was faint at first, but soon grew louder. The footsteps of an army, professional soldiers marching in ominous sync. They had a precision to their footsteps. We could hear it: left, right, left, right, left right. Hundreds of feet announcing the approach of the Orcs long before they could be seen.

“Mahal save us,” I heard someone mutter on my left. I recognize the voice and looked sharply in that direction. As I leaned forward I saw the distinctive Mohawk that Dwalin bore, and Balin as well, looking grim. I had not noticed their presence before. GabilAdad had ordered them to come?

I stood in the stirrups, leaning as far as I could to see if there was anyone else I knew. To my alarm, there were: my other cousins, Óin and Glóin, arms locked together between their ponies; Dori, white-faced and wide-eyed; Bifur, shuddering slightly and murmuring something that had to be a prayer.

Chills ran down my spine as I realized: we were going to die. All of us, for caverns. I saw then what Frerin had seen—this was madness, insanity.

Then we saw them. Ranks and ranks of Orcs began filing out the front gates. Their armor and weapons glittered in the sunlight, but it was the animal-like shrieks and snarls pealing from their mouths that cause such fear in me. I glanced to my left toward my friends and family. With apprehension I studied Dwalin, who sat ramrod straight on his pony, his grip tight on the handle of his axes. He, like all of us, looked like an iron-clad windup toy that was waiting, waiting to be released. If the toy’s gears were not sprung soon enough, it would break from the strain. Even from that distance I could see my cousin’s shoulders quivering with the need to release his building adrenaline. Our King was waiting too long. Did he doubt his decision now, at this crucial moment? It was far too late to turn back, even his goldlust-saturated brain must understand that.

The Orcs weren’t going to wait. If they charged we should have been able to kill them before they reached us, but what if their charging startled our rigid troops just long enough for them to reach us? Too many of us would be slaughtered before we could do much damage.

Without warning a voice behind me said quietly, “If we’re going to fight, let us fight.” Then I heard the creak of a Dwarven bow, and then the piercing _sing_ of an arrow. We all gaped as the projectile flew into the sky, performing perfect pirouettes, basking in the sunlight, feathers ruffled in the breeze, and then dove down and buried itself in the exact center of an Orc’s forehead.

The reaction was instant. Both sides surged forward, and the armies collided and mixed in a hideous throng of bloodshed and fear. Fathers, sons, brothers, neighbors, friends lay wounded and dying on the ground in piles. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the suffocating sense of fear that gripped each Dwarf’s heart. The Orcs were overwhelming us. Screams of the wounded and the blood turning the common into a sea of red only added to the horror. The Orcs were following their programming now, hunting down their prey and brutally butchering them. Some of our men knew they were being hounded and they fled like rabbits before a pack of wolves. It was their primal instinct deep down inside: run, get away from the threat they couldn’t fight. They never got far.

When I saw my grandfather’s head roll across the rocky ground toward me, all my energy went into a horrified scream, one of many in the devastation of the battle. After that I was fueled only by fear. I felt it coursing through my veins, making my heart race and my vision reel: the fear of death, of separation, of eternal darkness. I was no longer relying on my training; I was simply swinging my blade wildly about, madness taking hold of my mind and body.

I heard someone land beside me, having come from a higher point, and my immediate reaction was to kill. I whirled and froze. It was a body, bloody and bent, writhing on the ground in agony. How he'd snuck into the army I would never know, but at the moment I didn't care. I dropped my sword, scooping up my wailing brother and running, running for a place of safety.


	4. Farewell to the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Blessings of the Ancestors upon you until our travels cross again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *GabilDuym = great blessing

As I searched wildly for a hiding place I noted with some relief that the Orcs were paying no attention to me; they were too busy fighting the other Dwarves. I staggered toward a rock formation at the edge of the canyon, thinking it would be a good place to put Frerin out of sight. To my great surprise I found that behind the lip of the formation, a dark yawning mouth opened to swallow us.

Once inside the cave, I sank down to the cold rock ground to rest, Frerin’s head in my lap. I absently ran my hands through my younger brother’s hair as I gave a heavy sigh. I was exhausted. The battle had taken its toll on me. I knew the others outside were just as tired; I knew that time was running out; and I knew that Frerin could die here with me.

That brought me back to the present. The thought of Frerin’s death was appalling to consider. I felt a tight band of fear and anguish clench around my heart as I stared down at Frerin’s ashen face. I felt the iciness of death on my brother’s skin, and I whispered pleadingly, “Come on, little brother…don’t leave me here alone. Do you remember asking me what Dís would do if I didn’t come home? The same stands for you.”

Frerin groaned softly. As his green eyes slowly opened, Frerin stiffened and his arm jerked, groping about for his weapon.

I placed a subduing hand on my brother’s arm. “Lay still, Frerin. The battle is over,” I lied. “You’re wounded. Do you...do you know me?” Frerin’s eyes, wide with pain, strained to focus on my face. His mouth moved, but no sound came from his throat. I gently squeezed Frerin’s arm. “It’s alright,” I whispered. “Don’t try to speak if it hurts you.”

Frerin gave a small sound that seemed a mixture of gasping and choking. He lurched, and then coughed, blood spewing from his mouth. I felt my own throat constrict as I watched the red rivulets trail into Frerin’s beard.

After a long moment, my brother spoke. “Did you...like my war cry?” he asked croakily.

So he’d been the one to fire that first arrow. A swell of both pride and sorrow filled my chest. “Yes,” I whispered. “Very much.”

Frerin nodded sluggishly. “Thorin...I’m scared. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am...”

My grip on him tightened. “Don’t be scared, _GabilDuym_. I’m with you. I’ll stay as long as you want. Just...don’t leave me here alone.”

Frerin’s eyes were already glazing, and his fair face had taken on a grayish undertone. “You’ve got to let—got to let me go, Thorin. It hurts so badly...just let me go...”

“Never. Hold on, Frerin.” I clenched my teeth to swallow a sob. “Or I’ll sic Dwalin on you.” _If he and I survive long enough_.

Frerin’s lips, stained black with orc blood, curved into a small smile behind his moustache, and a sound bubbled in his throat that may have been a laugh. “Well, since you put it that way...”

My bloodstained fingers found Frerin’s, and there in silence we sat. All we knew was the presence of the other; the love bond that could never be cut, not even by death. There were so many things I wanted to tell him, but my emotions were such a turmoil within me that I couldn’t speak. All I could think of were the words he’d spoken to me when we were saying goodbye: ‘May a good death be upon you’.

As the last breath left Frerin’s body I realized that he might have been saying it to himself.

I let my tears fall as in a shuddering voice I whispered the customary farewell to the dead. “ _Dayamu Khuzan ai-mênu tak khaz meliku suz yenetu_.”

Gently I laid my brother’s body on the ground, and after a moment’s thought, I took up his sword. Then with my head raised I emerged from the cave to face my own fate.


	5. Isimunkhayam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of the thousands of Dwarves that departed, seven return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Isimunkhayam: Isimun khayam: everlasting victory

Seven hearts was heavy as we started home. We few—Bifur, Dori, Óin, Glóin, Balin, Dwalin, and I—were the only ones who would return. My brother’s body was a dull weight upon me, a symbol of our hopeless downfall. Was that all we Dwarves of Erabor were to be? Symbols of loss and sorrow?

The rest of my motley party didn’t seem to be having the same suffocating thoughts as I was. From the expressionless masks on their faces I could see they were not thinking at all. All that mattered was to keep their feet moving toward home. I knew that, though the shock hindered it now, there would be much heartache for them in the times to come.

Balin and Dwalin had ridden to Moria with their proud father Fundin before them. They were returning on foot, leaving him behind in the hands of filthy Orcs. It was likely that he was burning in the cruel creatures’ body piles at this very moment.

Óin and Glóin had lost their father many years ago to a heart illness, but in this battle their loss had been their mother, an honorable and beautiful woman who should have lived to see her sons mature into rich adulthood. She lived only to see them charge into the mass, and then was instantly speared down as she sought to follow.

Dori and Bifur were orphaned when they were still Dwarflings, but they had lost many friends in the battle, as we all had. They were near the back of our group, dutifully silent in respect for our bereavements.

And myself?  I had lost my grandfather, my father, and my brother. My bold, valiant brother, who had snuck into the army just because he wanted to see that _I_ would be safe. I was, but it had cost him his life.

I halted, closing my eyes that again burned fiercely with tears. Slowly I dropped to the ground with dear Frerin resting on my lap. I remained there, regardless of the eyes of the others. All that mattered was that somehow in the Halls of Waiting Frerin would hear my thoughts.

 _You didn’t fail, brother. If you can hear me, promise me you know that. You didn’t fail_. As much as I tried to convince myself, I knew that I was the one who had failed. I had failed my brother, failed my people.

Behind my eyelids I could see the future. We would approach our town, and one of the women would catch sight of us. The whispers of our return would run through the people, and they would gather to see if they could catch sight of their loved ones. Hopeful eyes would dim with tears of dismay as we ragged band of seven walked wearily past. Then the flag bearers would begin their rounds to each house. Blue for the relatively well; gold for the significantly wounded; red for the lost.

There would be four blue flags for myself, Balin, Dwalin, and Óin. Gold would be for Dori’s broken ribs, Bifur’s arrow-wound in his shoulder, and Glóin’s shattered knee. And the red…thousands of red flags would be hung the windows of devastated families who had lost the leaders or young ones of their household.

After what seems an eternity, a tentative hand landed on my shoulder. “Thorin. _Isimunkhayam_.” Dwalin’s voice cracked in shame. I knew why—he felt so wrong using my true Dwarven name, because after our obliteration today…it meant nothing. It was but an age-old lie to our people.

I stood once more, adjusting Frerin’s corpse in my arms so that what skin lay bare didn’t touch mine. I was cold enough already.


	6. Fist of Iron, Heart of Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nidoyith = young boy  
> *troskûldig = naïve  
> *shekith = young coward

The days that followed were silent and chill; no one left their houses except for firewood. Our race preferred to grieve alone in our own houses; the public sorrowing would come soon when in a procession we went to the cemetery to make tablets for the lost. This time, however, the graves beneath the earth would remain empty—all of the dead had been left in the valley.

I barely slept the next few nights. My head was pounding, my neck was tense, and my entire body was bruised and cut. It wasn’t my physical maladies that caused me insomnia. The fact that my younger brother’s… _corpse_ …lay in the next room was horrifying and unnerving.

As I lay in my bed one thought surfaced in my mind. _I am the King_. I sat up, eyes wide. _I am the King!_

Those four words cast such a burden on my shoulder that I leapt to my feet and burst from my bedchamber. Like a Dwarfling waked from a nightmare I scurried toward my parents’ chamber. As I was about to knock I froze, and a gasp of horror caught in my throat.

Adad wouldn’t answer me. He would never answer me again.

I sank to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest as tears of dismay clouded my eyes. My beloved father would have no more advice that I could ever take.

The cold of the stone floor soaked through my thin nightclothes, chilling my bones, but I couldn’t move. In my mind I replayed the last conversation I’d had with my father.

_“It’ll be good, Thorin,” he said decisively. “We’ll finally have a place of our own instead of wandering like peasants.”_

_“Do you really believe that, Adad?” I asked cautiously._

_“What’s this?”_

_“GabilAdad is…has been…rather troubled,” I faltered. “We’re low on both provisions and moral. It may not be wise to go to war while our soldiers are not strong physically and mentally.”_

_“Who are you, Isimunkhayam, to question the word of the King?” he snapped._

_I stepped back, protesting, “I’m not—!”_

_“Listen to me, nidoyith. If you are to one day become King of these people you must have a fist of iron and a heart of steel. If you do not have those yet, perhaps this battle will instill them in you! The Dwarves of Erabor cannot have a troskûldig shekith for their King.” Adad stared down at me, his single eye filled with a fire I’d not seen before._

_Meekly I whispered, “I’m not a troskûldig shekith, Adad. I’m a prince, concerned for the needs of the people. Isn’t that what you want of me?”_

He hadn’t replied. And now that I was King, I had to wonder if I truly was a naïve young coward as he’d said. Perhaps if I’d had a fist of iron and a heart of steel, I wouldn’t have returned home. Would that have been better? Would that have proven the strength of my heart and hand?


	7. Finding a Home

I lifted my head when I heard directly in front of me the sound of stone grating against stone. Sad blue eyes appeared in the darkness.

“Thorin, love, what are you doing out here in the draft?” my ama, Malyan, tutted softly. With no other word she helped me to my feet and took me inside my parents’ room.

“Parent’s” in the singular now.

Ama sat me down on the edge of the bed and then took my hand. “Why were you out there?” she asked gently.

I pursed my lips. “I…I wanted to…” At last I blurted out, “Ama, I’m king now!”

She nodded in agreement.

I leaned toward her. “ _I’m King under the Mountain_ ,” I stressed.

Nodding again Ama agreed, “Aye, that’s the one.”

“Don’t you get it?” I cried intensely. “I’m only 113 years old, and I have to lead our people! How am I going to do that?!”

Ama sighed heavily. “I don’t know, love. I’ve never been King under the Mountain before, I don’t know how it’s done.”

I swallowed hard. “I wanted to ask Adad. I wanted his advice, but he’s—” I choked, and Ama reacted swiftly. I wept in childlike misery, and my Ama simply held me, her own understated suffering boiling beneath the surface.

“Listen to me, love,” Ama said quietly after a while. “We can do nothing for those we’ve lost. But we can do a good lot for those we still have. They are your…with no better word for it, your subjects. You must care for them.”

The next morning I stood before our people gathered in the square. “…Today we leave this place behind!” I declared, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “Take only provisions and what things you absolutely cannot bear to leave behind.” My eyes locked with Dwalin’s. I had made him my second-in-command only a few hours earlier, and already I saw the loyalty and trust that I knew would come from him. Taking a shaky breath I continued, “The journey will be long and difficult, but we’ll find a home waiting for us.” I heard my father speaking through me as I continued, “It will be good.  We’ll finally have a place of our own instead of wandering like peasants. We’re making home in the Blue Mountains.”


	8. The Tense Taste of the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin’s cry echoed from the far back. “Óin! Where’s Óin?!”

_Splash_. I grimaced, and wished I had something behind me to block out this embarrassing sight. I’d staggered over a short root and landed ankle-deep in a puddle. Mucky water and grating mud overflowed into my boots, soaking my stockings and informing me that there would undoubtedly be a bad rash in store.

Is this how GabilAdad felt as an exiled King? A rustic wanderer, dirtying his prized coat and wearing down the soles of his boots which only should have walked in smoothly-carved kingdom halls? I blinked hard. Though I hadn’t always agreed with him, I truly loved my grandfather. And now he was…

Like something from a nightmare I saw his head rolling down the hill, splashing into the puddle at my feet. With a small yelp of horror I leapt from the mire and hastened my pace, trying to shake the memory from my mind. I _had_ to forget—but I never would.

Shivering, I turned my mind to the people I still had, as my mother had instructed. We’d been traveling for only five days, and yet to me it seemed an eternity. Ever since the night with Ama I wasn’t sleeping well. I was always on alert, in case something should come about which I, as King, needed to handle.

Nothing had happened so far. Why, then, did the air taste tense, as though waiting for something to—

Dwalin’s cry echoed from the far back. “Óin! Where’s Óin?!”

It wasn’t my name being called, but if they were in need of my medically-practiced cousin there had to be an emergency. I pivoted quickly and dashed toward Dwalin’s voice. Worming through the crowd was easier than I thought it would be; the people moved aside when they recognized me.

When I emerged on the scene, I pressed a hand to my mouth in disbelief and dismay.

A Dwarrowdam was on her knees, teeth clenched in pain as she hugged her pregnant stomach. I cursed myself for missing her among the Dwarves as I made my speech five days earlier. If I’d noticed sooner, I might have done something beforehand to help her, to make the journey easier…

I blinked, and Bifur was there, kneeling beside the woman. As I watched the two of them I realized that this was his aunt, Joniver. Bifur was speaking so quickly that I barely understood him.

“It’s alright, Auntie, just stay still, Óin’s coming, stay calm now, follow my breaths, would you…?”

I bit the inside of my lip and forced the loss of the sun out of my mind. There was no excuse for ignoring a Dwarrowdam in labor. If the Maker Mahal chose _this place_ for the birth, this was where it would take place.

By the time I returned to the present Óin was there as well. He and Bifur carefully carried the groaning woman into a hastily fashioned medical tent, and the flap was tied shut.


	9. Firstborns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has a talk with a Dwarfling.

With bowl of stew in hand I walked to the edge of our campsite, searching for a place to sit. Joniver’s labor was a lengthy one, as Dwarrow births usually are, and even from that far away I could hear her agonized cries.

However, as I blocked that sound from my mind I picked up another—quiet sobs, from somewhere very close. In surprise I looked over my shoulder. A Dwarfling was sitting a few yards away, with his face pressed into his knees.

Setting aside my supper I approached him. When he looked up he jumped and then cringed away from me.

“Hey, it’s alright,” I said soothingly. Crouching to be at eye-level with him I asked, “What’s your name?”

“B-Bofur.”

“I’m Thorin. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

The lad looked past me toward the others, and then whispered, “M’ ama…she’s hurt bad. Can’t ye hear?”

I realized then that this must be Joniver’s firstborn. “Yes, I hear her. But it will be over soon,” I explained comfortingly. “Then you’ll have a younger sibling, or perhaps more than one.”

“But it’s hurtin’ her!” he cried in despair.

I hushed him, and then continued gently, “It won’t forever. Only a little bit, and then it’ll be over.” I tried to relay to him what it was like. “When my ama was giving birth to my younger brother, Frerin, I was really worried too. But they were both alright afterwards.”

Bofur sniffed a bit, and then rubbed at his eyes. “Where…where is he?”

“Who?”

“Frerin, yer brother. Can I meet him?”

I froze, and my heart clenched in my chest. “Ah—no. He’s…he’s gone on a journey.”

For a moment the Dwarfling studied me, and then asked uncertainly, “Is he gone t’ th’ Waitin’ Hall? Like m’ adad?”

After hesitating, I nodded. “Yes.”

Bofur put a tiny hand on my knee. His young eyes said everything he needed to.

I heard footsteps behind me. “Thorin, Joniver’s asking for the boy,” Dwalin said. “She wants him to meet his brother.”


	10. Guardian

“Ye were right, Mister Thorin,” Bofur exclaimed in relief as he emerged from the medical tent. “Ama an’ m’ baby brother are a’right!”

“I’m glad,” I said from where I sat on a fallen log.

Bofur puffed out his chest. “Ama says I get t’ choose his names, Common _an’_ Dwarven,” he announced proudly. “I think I’ll make his Common name ‘Bombur’.”

“What does that mean?” I questioned.

Bofur shrugged. “It means ‘fat’. An’ really, it’s th’ truth. He’s a tubby little fella.”

With eyebrows raised I asked, “What will be his Dwarven name? Surely you can’t give him the name ‘fat’ in the Native Tongue!”

Bofur’s laugh was pleasant. “O’course not! I think it should be… _DenapdulDê_. D’ye know what that means?”

I did, but I shook my head.

“It means ‘truth to me’, cos ye said he would be alright an’ he is!” Digging in the dirt with the toe of his small boot, Bofur asked softly, “Did ye get t’ name yer brother?”

I nodded. “Indeed, I did. I named him _GabilDuym_ , ‘great blessing’.” My breath hitched in my throat as I remembered my last few words with my brother.

_“Thorin...I’m scared. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am...”_

_“Don’t be scared,_ _GabilDuym. I’m with you. I’ll stay as long as you want. Just...don’t leave me here alone.”_

_“You’ve got to let—got to let me go, Thorin. It hurts so badly...just let me go...”_

“I’m sorry,” Bofur said hastily. “I shouldn’t have brought it up...”

I swallowed slowly and after a moment was able to blink away the tears. “No, no. You were just curious.”

“M’ ama says m’ curiosity’s not a good thing,” Bofur replied guiltily. “She says I shouldn’t be blabbin’ all the time askin’ so many questions.”

“But,” I pointed out, thankful for the change of subject, “if you didn’t ask those questions, you would never know the answers.”

Bofur considered as he slid himself up onto the log beside me. “Hmm. Nev’r thought about that. I’ll have t’ tell her so.”

There was silence between us, but I felt a tug to say more, say something to prepare him for brotherhood responsibility, as well as making home in a new and frightening place.

“Bofur...” I paused. His dark eyes were hardly like Frerin’s in color, but he stared at me with the same alertness and loyalty, even though we’d only known each other for a few hours. How quick the young were to trust those around them.

“Yes, Thorin?”

“You should understand that you are a guardian now. _DenapdulDê_ is going to need your support and wisdom—your protection—as he gets older.” I wavered as grief curled its icy fingers around my throat. “I—I failed my role as my brother’s guardian. Make sure you never do the same.”

The lad’s astonished gaze followed me as I stood and stumbled blindly away.


	11. Perspective of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was his blade, and there was my exposed neck.

_I sat tall and proud atop my war horse, gazing down at my many, many troops. These were the faithful ones. If it had not been against all protocol I would have had every one of the Dwarrowdams suiting up as well, but only those trained were here to accompany our brave men in the fight._

_Then the Orcs came. Trying not to flinch as I heard their footfalls, I lifted my chin higher. There wouldn’t be any retreat for the Erabor Dwarves. No, never._

_My subjects shifted uneasily, but I kept my face stern, like the solemn statues outside my true, beloved home. It wouldn’t be long now. After taking hold of Khazad-dûm, we would retake Erabor. Who were these Orcs, who was Smaug, to question these Dwarven people?_

_A great silence fell as the Orcs stopped facing us. About to give the charge command, I paused abruptly. One Orc in particular was leering right at me. He was tall among the rest, and his flesh was pale as the ghostly moon against rippling water._

_So, the legends were true. There was a Pale Orc, Azog, in Moria._

_We held each other’s gaze for a long moment, and then I heard something to my left. There was an arrow in the air, and a fallen Orc soldier, and then the charge I had not yet ordered._

_The next moments were wild, filled with flashing steel and harsh cries. Blood splashed in waves across the ground, both Orcish and Dwarvish. With every stroke I tallied the kills. We were winning. We were winning! I could feel victory near..._

_At last we could have a home. It may not be Erabor, but it was good enough!_

_Something struck me from behind unexpectedly. I fell, landing hard at the feet of the Pale Orc. I stared up at him, eyes wide and mouth gaping. With a wicked sneer, he buried a claw in my hair and lifted my chin higher. There was his blade, and there was my exposed neck, and the last I heard was the cry of my grandson as I was decapitated._

My grandfather’s perspective of death caused my mind to spin even as I woke, howling madness. Flailing for my sword I sat up—and instantly cracked my head against the support for my tent. The impact drove in waves through my skull and I caved in, falling face first back onto my tangled blankets. Groaning my agony, I slipped into unconsciousness that would likely be much stiller than my dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm...ouch??


	12. Why We Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin and Thorin know each other so well that they can speak without moving their lips.

A formidable headache assaulted me just as consciousness did. Quietly I whimpered, shifting limply upon whatever soft surface laid under me.

Although it wasn’t directed at me, a relieved voice reached my ears. “He’s awake, lassie.”

“Oh, Thorin, are you alright?!” A small, feminine hand gripped mine and I forced my eyes open.

The light was rude to my vision and I blinked rapidly, trying to accustom to it. When I finally did, I looked to my right and saw someone quite familiar hovering fretfully above.

“Dís—”

My sister released her held breath. “Don’t upset us like that again! Earlier Dwalin found you flat on your face in your tent with your head bleeding and he brought you to Óin. We thought you’d been attacked by Orcs or something! Still, nothing was taken and the hounds were completely silent all through the night. What did happen, Thorin?”

I paused, trying to remember. “I think I hit my head on the support when I woke,” I murmured sluggishly.

Dís nodded in understanding. “We need to find some way to reposition those. Do you want to sit up?” I nodded, and she tightened her grasp and pulled me straight. A gasp escaped my throat as vertigo chilled my body. The sensation passed eventually and I staggered to my feet.

“Where…where is Dwalin, anyway?” I asked, not even minding the humiliation as she slipped an arm around my waist to support me.

“Outside. He was worried stiff about you—never left your side until Balin finally convinced him to leave for a bit and eat his meal,” Dís explained, smiling slightly. “Has he always been that protective of you?”

I nodded, ducking my head against the brilliant sun as we emerged from the tent. “Yes.”

“Even before I and Frer—” She stopped, pressing her lips together in a tight, thin line.

“Yes,” I said again, my voice now a whisper. “Even before you and Frerin were born.”

The conversation ended there, as I heard another voice gladly cry my name.

“Thorin!” Balin appeared without warning, gripping my arms in a tight embrace. “I’m so happy to see you’re up and about! Come, let’s get some food in your stomach, you’ve been unconscious for hours!”

“What time…?”

“It’s just ’round lunch. Glóin hobbled about on his crutches making us some healthy fires for the meat.”

I nodded slowly, letting my cousin guide me to a place where I could sit. Sinking down, I let my eyes close as I massaged my bandaged forehead, barely suppressing a groan. When I looked up again, there was Dwalin crouching in front of me. I startled but managed to catch myself before I fell backward.

“Dwalin.”

“What happened to you?” Dwalin asked grimly by way of greeting.

I gave him a weak smile. “Bumped my head when I woke up. I’m fine.”

“No.” Dwalin reached up and wiped a thumb over my brow, catching blood that was seeping from under the bandage. “No, you’re not fine.”

The next seconds that ticked past seemed an eternity. We two were silent, but Dwalin was still speaking to me through his eyes. We’d done this for many years, and by now we were adept at reading each other. My heart rate quickened as Dwalin’s silvery gaze breathed secrets to my blue one.

 _Dear guarded Thorin,_ he whispered, _Balin and I know about the dreams. You make too much noise at night. We hear you calling for them in your sleep._

 _Why do you listen?_ I asked defensively.

 _Because…_ Dwalin paused, his lips tightening. _Because_ _we suffer the same. Our father…we imagine him hurting, as you imagine yours._

“But what can we do to help you?” he questioned softly, using his mouth now.

Setting my jaw, I stood and strode toward the bonfire, leaving Dwalin’s question unanswered.


	13. The Answer

“Through much hardship we arrived at the Blue Mountains,” I concluded gravely, “and made this settlement. We all grew up. Your ama married your adad, you two were born, and here we are.”

There was a moment where the lads were processing the story, and then Fíli yawned. His brother immediately followed suit.

“I’d best return you to your beds,” I murmured, balancing them in each arm. They hugged my neck as I carried them back to their shared room and settled their blankets over them. After a moment of hesitation I leaned down and kissed each of them on the head.

“You sleep now,” I whispered, turning to leave. I was just reaching the door when Kíli’s soft baby voice spoke.

“Uncle Tho’in…did you eve’ answe’ Uncle Dwalin?”

I paused, shifting slightly in a way that, if Dwalin had been there to see, he would have called a fidget. “Someday soon he’ll know the answer without my help,” I said gravely. All was quiet, and I knew they didn’t hear me anymore. With a slow release of breath I closed the door and returned to my chair by the hearth.

I had never taken my eyes off the lads as I told my tale. I had watched their young faces contort in confusion, and I couldn’t blame them. It would likely take Fíli and Kíli some years to find the answer as well. They would be years full of learning, I swore. Once their hearts, bodies, and minds were prepared, I might tell them how they could help.

Dís would likely kill me if she knew what I was planning to do. Still, I would bide my time, wait in patience. I would allow my nephews to grow up, being their guardian as I was for Frerin once. Then they would stand by my side as I faced my old enemy again.

Closing my eyes, I visualized the Dragon’s long tail flicking as he vanished into the conquered kingdom of Erabor. I heard Frerin’s voice, quiet and strong as he notched his bow for Moria.

_“If we’re going to fight, let us fight.”_

I was certain that Frerin, in the Halls of Waiting, knew what I needed. Sooner or later, the others would figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from kili99:
> 
> "How about something with Frerin and Thorin, maybe in the form of telling a story to Fili and Kili. I think people forget sometimes, not only did Thorin lose his kingdom, it was not too long after that he lost his grandfather, brother, and his father. Losing family is one of the hardest things in life, and he lost three incredibly important people in his life at roughly the same time. With all of that grief he then had to lead an entire people. So some Durin family feels, fluff and angst."


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